Paint Me a Beautiful Picture
by animetearslove
Summary: Sheltered, intelligent, and insipid Near meets Mello, an aspiring street artist with a foul mouth and a quick wit. The blonde shows the listless boy that life isn't just science and pain-life is an empty canvas, waiting to be filled with color. SHONEN-AI!


**A/N: Hi! This is my first yaoi fic, and, to be honest, I'm a little nervous! *bites lip* But, the call of yaoi has been a little strong lately, and I couldn't resist -.-" To all those who love hardcore lemons, I love them too! But, unfortunately, or, err, fortunately?, this story will contain none-just a lot of cute fluffiness :)**** Other than that, I really have nothing to say except that Wammy's will be located in New York, not England. Rated T for strong language, some gore, and suggestive themes.**

**Well, this story goes out to all you Mello and Near fans! Hope you enjoy! **

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"Did you hear?" Gevanni asked his co-worker, Matsuda.

"About?" Matsuda replied, taking a sip of coffee.

"The ol' Wammy House."

"The orphanage?"

"Yeah," the older man said, taking a seat. "The owner went insane after someone close to him died, which was a little less than a month ago. Luckily, there was only one kid left. Everyone else had been adopted. Rumor has it, they still live there."

Matsuda's eyes widened. "_Really_? In that dilapidated building? That can't be right."

"Mmm-hmm. I heard police visited, and they demanded custody over the kid. But, the owner insisted that he could take care of him." Gevanni laughed suddenly. "Hah, what a joke. I saw a picture of him recently, and you should've seen him. Wide black eyes, tattered clothes…high as hell."

"The…the police took the child, though, right?" the younger man asked, genuinely concerned for the kid.

"Nope," Gevanni replied dryly. "Let the kid stay. Or, rather, let him rot to die. The police down here are such shit."

"Jesus, what's this world coming to?" Matsuda pondered out loud.

"I don't know, but, guess what?" Gevanni leaned toward Matsuda, a weird expression contorting his sharp features. "I also heard that the police couldn't take the kid because… well, the owner apparently had a _fit_."

"Fit?"

"Yeah. He went ape-shit, apparently, and badly maimed four officers. Mind you," he added, "this was without weapons."

"Holy crap," was the younger man's awed reply.

"Blood everywhere, I heard. And, guess what the owner did?" But, before Matsuda could answer, Gevanni plowed on eagerly. "He just sat on the floor, knees pulled up to his chest, nibbling on his thumbnail." He crossed his arms. "The police ran after that. What pussies."

"What, would you have stayed?" Matsuda half-laughed.

"Sure, why not? Crazy bastards are fun to watch-and this guy seemed super-psycho."

Matsuda pushed his friend. "There is something wrong with you," he chuckled. "You have a sick mind."

Gevanni laughed too, though it was more forced. "This whole world is sick, Matsuda." He shook his head. "_Sick, _and it's getting sicker everyday…"

**-Eight Years Later-**

White. Black. And various shades of the aforementioned colors.

That was what the Wammy House for Orphans had been reduced to after years and years of disrepair. The once beautiful orphanage, one of the most renowned places for homeless children, was now a dead wasteland, stained by death and hate. The proud building was decaying, from the inside out, its mahogany colored wood, a dull gray now, littering the ground beneath it. Gardens where kids, in the past, had played, were currently devoid of any green life and, more than often not, gave off a nasty smell.

The interiors of the building were no better off, and were almost worse. The color had faded from children's bedrooms, leaving dreary tones in their place. Broken toys and stale crumbs could be easily stepped on. The air, itself, inside the house was choking, making one feel trapped inside its colorless halls.

Yet, it was in these same halls, that a fragile fifteen year old walked, nervously clutching at his white pajamas. And, just like his white clothes, everything on his person was white and or gray-his hair, his big eyes, even his face. His name was Nate River, or, rather, he hadn't been called that for a long time. No, his name was Near. Given to him by his guardian, the owner of the very orphanage.

If the boy had any friends, he would be known as the calm, collected one. If the outside world knew him, he would be hailed as a genius, would be offered every high paying job there would be to offer because he was only fifteen-yet, at his tender age, he possessed more knowledge than the average adult.

Of course, this was all hypothetical, considering Near had never set a single sock-covered foot outside. All he knew existed was the crumbling remains of a building once known as Wammy's.

Near rounded a corner, a finger reaching toward his hair to curl a strand. He always did this whenever he was in a deep thought process, bored, upset, or nervous. Today, he was nervous. Anxious for this day to pass. Because this was the day he'd come to know as Wammy's Dark Day.

His feet quietly padded on the wooden floor, his gray, blank eyes set on reaching the door a few feet from him. This was always where Near could find _him_-a small, pathetic ball on the ground. Near couldn't help but feel bad for the man, but even _he_ must realize how unhealthy all the depression was. Even if it only lasted for one day.

Near reached the door, his breath hitching slightly in his throat. His finger curled more roughly around the tuft of hair, and he mentally told himself to calm down. He'd been doing this for seven whole years. The routine was simple-go in, calm the man down, make sure no objects that could be used as weapons were nearby, then ready his supply of sweets, because they seemed to be the only thing able to keep the man as relaxed as possible. Near patted both of his pockets to make sure the candy was still there, felt the small bulges, then sighed. He was ready.

Or, so the small boy thought.

Creaking softly, the door opened, and the white-haired boy stuck his head in the room. "…L?" he asked softly, his voice a break in the dull silence.

The man in question, L, as he went by, sat in front of a picture. Near noted with sympathy that L had not changed his dirty white shirt and crumpled jeans, nor had he brushed his dirty, unkempt black hair. The older man's hunched figure offered no response to Near.

The boy walked in, and set the door slightly ajar. He cleared his throat and asked in his same toneless voice, "N-Near has brought L something."

The older man just shook his head, and Near knew L was biting on his nails again. "I can't have anything… Naomi is near, I can feel her. My dear, sweet Naomi. I have to wait for her…" L's cracked voice faded.

Another pang of discomfort shot through Near. He was never good at reading another's emotions, and even though he had known L almost his whole life, the man was fragile right at this moment. Too hard of a push, and he would fall to pieces.

"Near is truly sorry, L," Near offered, because it was the only thing he could do. He cautiously took a seat next to the black-haired man. L merely flinched a little. The white-haired boy quickly took a look around the room, and found that they were no dangerous items near. A good sign. One less item off his list.

Near reached in one of his pockets, and grabbed a handful of candy. "L needs to eat," he urged softly, feeling a bit stupid that he should be encouraging the older man to eat sweets.

"She loved to paint," L suddenly said. "She was wonderful at it, too. Her art was beautiful, just like her. I kept many of her drawings near."

Near nodded, not sure what to say. He decided on, "That is fantastic, L. Would L like Near to get the artwork? L need only tell Near where they are kept-"

L's eyes suddenly widened, and Near cringed. "I… I don't know where they are," L started to sob. "I can't remember… I can't remember…" Cries wracked through the older man's throat.

The white-haired boy swallowed, feeling more and more at unease. "It is okay if L cannot remember where they are. If L would like, Near can go search-"

"No!" L cried out. "She promised she would always be near… always and forever. There was a picture. She signed it, signed she would always be near." The black-haired man bit even harder on his nail, and Near was afraid he would start bleeding.

"L, please calm down!" the smaller boy pleaded. "Miss Naomi is here, she is," he lied, desperate for the old man to stop crying.

"Liar!" the older man screamed, burying his face in his hands. "She's dead… why are you lying to me? I miss her, oh God, I miss her…"

"Okay, okay, L," the white-haired boy said quietly. "Near is going to go find Miss Naomi, now, alright? Near will only be a minute-"

L suddenly stood up, and Near gasped. L's wide black eyes were spiraling crazily in their sockets, and Near knew that if he didn't do something, this would end badly. He attempted to stand as well, but the black-haired man roughly pushed him down. "I have to go find the picture," L muttered, his eyes blazing with a new emotion-anger. " I have to go."

"B-but, L should rest…" Near struggled to stand up. "L is unwell, he must rest…!" He tried to place a pale hand on the older man's shoulder.

"Get your hands off me!" L snarled. He raised a hand, and his palm made contact with Near's white face. The small boy let out a cry of pain and stumbled to the floor. Raven colored eyes widened upon realizing what he had just done, but L just shook his head and started out of the room.

Near clutched at his now red cheek, whimpering slightly. L had never hurt him before… never. His fragile legs got him back up and he rubbed his cheek one more time before going after L. The slap hurt, yes, it did, but seeing L mourn for Naomi was by far more pathetic.

Near shoved the door aside, and saw L standing in front of the staircase. The white-haired boy broke out in a sweat. L wasn't that stupid… right? "L, please, come back. Near thinks he has found Miss Naomi's picture!" he said as persuasively as he could.

L paid no attention to the boy, and instead focused his gaze on the foot of the staircase, a small smile lighting his face. "Naomi," he whispered, black hair falling in front of his eyes. "I found you…"

"L…!" Near watched in horror and L's body became limp, the man finally giving into the pain. Near cried out and lunged for the man.

It was too late, however. Near grabbed a bit of L's white shirt, but the older man had already began falling down, and the piece of cloth Near had managed to get a hold of tore off. Another scream came out of the small boy's mouth, but he could barely hear it above the roaring of his own heart, the thumping of L's body as it crashed down the flight of stairs. He still couldn't hear anything else as he heard the sharp _crack _of L's head upon making contact with the floor.

The small boy sank to his knees as he watched his guardian's lifeless body settled itself on ground floor, his stomach twisting as he noticed how… _wrong _it looked, how a fall down the stairs could badly mangle a body just like _that_. He tried to speak, and, after a few unsuccessful tries, quietly whispered, "L…? L?"

No answer was returned, and Near saw something coming out of L's head. Being so used to lackluster colors, the intense color of the blood seeping from his guardian's head was unsettling. The boy suddenly gagged, and vomited onto the floor, the red filling his vision until all he could see, hear, and smell was death.

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** Um, sorry L fans! It had to be done! *sad face* This chappie was pretty much depressing, but it gets betta when Mello comes in. Anyway, thanks for reading, and reviews make me happy! (pathetic begging, lol) **


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